


Caramel Apple Douchebag

by teaandhemlock



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Barista AU, First Meetings, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24345178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandhemlock/pseuds/teaandhemlock
Summary: Dave shows up every Friday five minutes before close to get a drink. Karkat hates him for it.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 94





	Caramel Apple Douchebag

**Author's Note:**

> I was possessed by a spirit that demanded I write this instead of work on my more serious piece so here I am. It's self-indulgent but maybe someone else will enjoy it too. I've never attempted Karkat before so please forgive me

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you don’t hate your job. Really, you don’t. Your coworkers range from ‘tolerable’ to ‘might actually speak to outside of work’ and sure maybe the customers suck but that’s true of any service job. You actually like making coffee. It’s fulfilling in a way your last retail job wasn’t. At least you’re actually making something tangible here, and doing it pretty damn well. 

So you don’t hate your job. Since moving to mids and closing shifts you barely even hate the regular customers. There is one notable exception to that, though, who you have privately dubbed ‘caramel apple douchebag’. The guy probably has a name, and you’re definitely supposed to ask for it, but you haven’t any time that he’s come in. On principal. Because caramel apple douchebag only ever shows up five minutes to close on Friday nights. For three months now this guy has consistently been your last customer on Fridays. You are absolutely certain of this only because you have ranted about this guy enough times that even when you aren’t working you get a text when he comes in. It has hit the point that whenever he walks through the door you are suddenly the only person on the floor and forced to help him. (Apparently your hatred towards him is funny? You can’t pretend to understand the little ways your coworkers decide to torture you.) 

Caramel apple douchebag earned his name in two ways. The first was that his drink order never changed. He always ordered a venti caramel apple spice, kids temp. Apparently he wasn’t capable of just waiting for it to cool down a little bit, like a sensible adult. On occasion he ordered a venti americano with it. He’d tried to order a pour over once and you’d almost lost your shit because who the fuck orders a pour over five minutes to close? Caramel apple douchebag, apparently. The douchebag part was twofold. His timing and then the fact that your store closed at 10pm and this guy waltzed in once a week at 9:55pm wearing sunglasses. Only a douchebag wore sunglasses at night and indoors. 

As much as you hate the guy, he’s started to become a part of your routine in some sort of fucked up way. You despise him but damn if he isn’t a reliable outlet for your hatred. So when one Friday he suddenly doesn’t show up you’re understandably thrown off. More than a little thrown off. Worried? No, that’s stupid. You’re not worried about a guy that you definitely hate. If anything you’re ecstatic. Totally overjoyed that you can stop waiting for him to show up and throw off the whole closing routine! With his sudden disappearance you can finally forget him and his douchey shades.

Except you can’t. You spend the whole week with CAD in the back of your head every time you’re at work. (And once when you spot the apple juice at the grocery store. The lady that has to squeeze past you to grab a bottle definitely thinks you’re a weirdo because of the way you’re glaring at the innocent juice and you decide that’s another reason to hate that guy.) 

By the time Friday rolls around you are trying very hard not to think about him or to wonder if he’s going to show. Something that might be disappointment but is definitely actually relief settles in your chest when the clock strikes ten and you go to lock the door. You make it halfway across the cafe when it opens instead and there he is. One hand on the door handle, the other tucked into the front pocket of his red hoodie. The same fucking shades as always even though it’s _ten o’clock at night_. He freezes when he sees you coming towards the door, only halfway in and holding it open. “Shit, are y’all closed?”

The correct answer would be ‘yes, asshole, we are very much closed’. That’s not the answer you give. 

“Are you just getting glorified apple juice?” You cross your arms across your chest as you wait for his answer and he hesitates, thrown off. 

“Uh, yes? I mean, yeah, Dirk’s passed the fuck out so he doesn’t need anything.” You assume Dirk is the recipient of the occasional americano. You don’t really know what to do with that information. “But I mean if y’all are closed it’s fine.” He goes to take a step back and you start to walk back to the bar. 

“You’re already here and I haven’t shut the machines down yet.” You have no idea why you’re doing this. He follows you inside after a moment, going up to the register. You wait until you have the juice steaming to ring him up, at which point you decide to make this whole interaction even more awkward than it already is. “You weren’t here last week.” It’s not really a question. Customer connections are supposed to be a thing but you decided ‘fuck that’ a long time ago. This is more personal curiosity. A guy doesn’t show up at the exact same time once a week, every week, for three months and then just suddenly stop for no reason. Unless he’s a psychopath or something and honestly? You’re not ruling that out. 

“Oh, yeah, I was out of town. Shit totally sucked, zero out of ten stars, would not recommend. Couldn’t even get a decent caramel apple thing while I was gone, can you believe that? I went to three different stores down there and they all tasted like ass. Which, I know, doesn’t seem possible cause like it’s basically just apple juice and whatever the fuck syrup you guys put in there and apple juice can’t be bad. I’m a solid worshiper at the church of apple juice, man, you best believe I get down on any and all apple juice whenever possible. I did not know it was possible to fuck up some hot apple juice but hey, there’s a first time for everything? Anyway, I’m glad you’re here because you definitely make it better. You’re my saviour right now, dude. I’m about to get sent to aj heaven and you’re the angel guiding me there.” As he talks the guy leans against the counter, wallet in his hand but totally forgotten. 

He’s never really said much before, not beyond what was necessary to order a drink. This is...something. It’s enough to get you to abandon the register because he’s managed to go on long enough for the apple juice to steam. He’s still going, actually, you just tuned out. You finish the drink, pop the lid on, and then hand it to him. He’s got his card in the reader but you never actually finished ringing him up and it’s beeped probably twice now. 

“You can just have this one.” If he was talking about anything important you might have felt bad about interrupting him but he was definitely just going on about juice. The offered, now apparently free, drink seems to snap him out of his ramble. He gets halfway to taking it and then hesitates. 

“You sure, dude? I mean I will happily take this and run but like you aren’t going to get in trouble, are you?” With the shades it’s difficult to tell if he’s sincere but you think he might be. It feels weird for a guy that regularly inconveniences you to be worried about something like that.

“It’s fine. It’s just a replacement for the shitty ones you had.” Mr. apple juice has always come in here with a poker face. It’s why, when you see the corner of his lips quirk up in a smile at your comment, you have to blink a few times to make sure you’re seeing it right. As if this whole situation wasn’t weird enough the sudden emoting on his end brings something you had been overlooking this whole time to light.

The guy is kind of hot? More than kind of. Definitely your type. _Fuck_.

His fingers brush against your hand as he finally takes the drink you’ve been holding and your heart just forgets to do its job for a moment. You are officially in hell. Your cheeks feel a little hot and you pray to whatever god that feels like listening that you’re just hallucinating that feeling. If you are actually blushing you might as well drop dead on the spot. 

“Fuck yeah. Shit, sorry for showing up when you were closing. Thanks for this, man, it is very much appreciated.” He smiles again- _fuck, he’s cute_ \- and then he’s waving and out the door before you can come up with something intelligent to say. 

It’s not until you actually go and manage to lock the door this time that you start registering the beeps from the card machine again.

“Fuck!” The guy is long gone but you run over anyway and sure enough, his card is still stuck in the machine. You pull it out to shut up the machine and can’t help but look at the name on the card. _Dave Strider_. At least you can stop calling him ‘caramel apple douchebag’. He’s a regular anyway so he’s sure to come back for his card, it won’t be that big of a deal. 

You think that maybe you won't dread seeing Dave next Friday at close.


End file.
